Page 26 of Forbidden
I actually don’t mind, and it reminds me of my early teens. The time before I had to become cold and guarded.
A foster brother called me Loren, and it takes me back. Back before he died.
“Oh, and you never told me,” she says playfully. “How many brothers and sisters you have.” I look across the ocean, and say nothing. “Loren?”
We have never discussed this, and I’ve always shied away from the subject.
How can I not?
I look at Storm, and I remind myself to stay calm. “I was adopted, Storm. I have no idea if I have, or had, any real brothers or sisters from my… them.”
“Oh,” she says sweetly. “Not even your foster family?”
I don’t reply. What is there to say?
That foster care can be hell? That many of us were treated like cattle? That some white trash families would take us on, just to get paid?
That we’d have to fight for food, for a bed, and we’d be stacked in garages on bunk beds?
It’s just me, and the world, and it always has been. Always will be.
“Did you ever try and find your birth parents?”
I shake my head. If they didn’t want me, screw them. “No,” I say, wanting to change the subject.
Storm walks closer, and she wraps an arm awkwardly over my bare shoulder. Unless it is sexual, I’m unused to the touch of another.
It feels good, and I miss it.
I had to grow up fast to survive, and I built up layers to protect myself. I’ve become cold, hard and what she calls,grumpy.
I guess, Storm is the complete opposite. She never forced herself to grow up. She never formed a hard outer shell. She is pure, she is innocent, and she lives in the now.
She is loving, young, and flowing. Perhaps like a graceful fire flickering. I am cold, and hard. Like ice. We are not compatible.
We never will be.
“Come on,” I say, “let’s head home.”
As I readthe movie script in the sun, shirtless, Storm walks from the kitchen with fresh juices. “Here. Your favorite and mine.”
I close the script and rise, “thanks.”
Standing, we look over the beach from under the palms with our different juices. The sunset will be perfect again.
“Loren?”
“Yeah,” I say turning.
“What happened to your back?”
I say nothing, and I turn back to face the light surf. I tell myself to open up and be human. The large intricate dragon and its green and yellow designs cover the wound. The rough skin is still visible, but it’s the best they could do. The skin was melted and rough.
“You mean the tattoo?”
“Yes. What happened to your skin.”
I say nothing and look across the remote and lone beach. The beach is like me. Happily remote. Happily alone.
